


Pre-requisite one

by kres



Series: Series Four Daisy (Chain) [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:24:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9436010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kres/pseuds/kres
Summary: Sherlock has a new toy. Supervision required.





	

"Self-awareness. It's a curious term, isn't it?"

Mycroft doesn't lift his eyes from the paper. "Curious how?"

"We are aware, every minute of every day - unless we're drunk, high or sleeping - and we build ourselves out of the experiences we have during that time. Time, obviously, is essential, but it is not enough. When we are aware, when we are consciously using our brain, we are practically applying the idea of self-awareness to our perception of now. But that's the problem right there. Do you see?"

Mycroft doesn't see. With some resignation, he refolds the paper and sets it aside.

"Enlighten me, please, Sherlock."

Sherlock looks at him. He is cradling a cup of tea on a saucer. The tea is cold. He's forgotten it's there.

"It's not measurable," Sherlock says. "You cannot measure someone's level of self-awareness. Do they respond to external stimuli? Does their EEG pass for normal? But how much do they really know about themselves, at any given moment? How much can they access who they really are?"

"How much indeed," agrees Mycroft.

"And if it's not measurable, then how do you assess it? How do you know if it hasn't changed? How do you know if the person you're talking to is the same person you talked to a minute ago?"

He fixes his eyes on Mycroft. He looks agitated. The cup hasn't trembled a bit.

Mycroft considers.

We do our best, he thinks, with the information we have available at any given time.

Who they really are doesn't matter, he thinks, it's the adverse effects of their actions that count, when they impact other people.

And who gave you the right, Eurus says, to decide which choices to make for everyone here?

Sherlock is waiting. Mycroft clears his throat.

"Well," he says, "I, for one, have no issue with who I am, and, as your brother, I can objectively assess that you are right now the very same whiny and pretentious smackhead I've had the pleasure to know all these years." He smiles, and folds his hands in his lap. "Sherlock, give it a rest. You know how to deal with this, you know who you are. You know how to evade and break mental loops, you can deal with them without all this… decoration."

He pauses. Sherlock watches him, hands folded around china, resting on his knee.

"I know it must be--" Mycroft considers, then allows: "Difficult. It's a mental condition. But you don't need to succumb to it out of a sense of nobility. Martyrdom doesn't suit you."

"Promise me," Sherlock says, and sets the saucer down onto the side table with a deliberate hand.

Mycroft leans back in his chair. "Promise?"

"That you'll remind me," says Sherlock. "If I ever forget, remind me who I am, Mycroft. Will you do that?"

And he fixes Mycroft with a deliberate stare of such transparent sanity, that it forces a reevaluation, and it's very strange, Mycroft thinks, to face a new phenomenon, outside of what his intellect and experience had mapped and charted to the bone and back.

Sherlock doesn't need help. Sherlock has gained access - well, is hampered by, but it's merely a hindrance - he has gained access to completely new areas of his brain.

So much space. Unexplored. Blindly navigated all these years. To be able to experiment with it, to rebuild it, to direct its reconstruction with all the intellect and experience of now…

It's enviable. High-risk. And not something Mycroft can possibly stop.

(Not something he possibly cares to...)

He straightens. Fights the urge to smooth out his tie, identifies that instantly as a tell, identifies that Sherlock had known about it for some time - a small touch of pride - and there, the feeling rises again, on the coattails of an emotional connection, and once more, and against all reason, Mycroft _worries about him_.

Sherlock has a new toy. Supervision required. Mycroft lifts his brows.

"Of course I will, brother mine."


End file.
